


Wait to Meet (My Love Made Real)

by oneoneandone



Series: My Heart Outside My Body [2]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneoneandone/pseuds/oneoneandone
Summary: "What did I tell you about the last weeks of pregnancy? Eggshells, dude, eggshells."
Relationships: Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett, Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Series: My Heart Outside My Body [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2067675
Comments: 15
Kudos: 110





	Wait to Meet (My Love Made Real)

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt**   
>  _Soran- sonnett going into labor and Lindsey rushing to get to her in time_

“Seriously, dude,” Tobin quite literally pulls Lindsey toward the showers, fingers hooked into the taller woman’s training top, “Chris was in labor for like _hours_ , you have time to clean up.”

But Lindsey just looks around, feeling lost, like she’s forgotten everything. All but the most important thing.

It’s time.

She should have known this would happen. That the first time she’s left Emily alone in _weeks_ would be the moment their baby chooses to make its arrival.

See, the thing is, this wasn’t supposed to happen. They’d specifically timed everything so that this, in fact, wouldn’t happen. They were supposed to get pregnant, and welcome their child at least three months before pre-season even got started.

But it had taken a few cycles longer than they’d anticipated for Emily to get pregnant. And Lindsey had even suggested they stop right before that last attempt, the one that had finally worked, and wait until the off-season again. (Though she is absolutely over the moon that Emily had talked her out of that thought, and insisted on one more go, because wouldn’t you know it, that’s the one that took.)

And even that would have been okay. Because Emily’s due-date put them in the clear. It had been perfect, actually, the timeline. Emily would deliver close to her due date, about three weeks before pre-season, and Lindsey would miss the first week or two, spending a full month with her brand new little family before reporting.

Perfect, right?

Except the baby had clearly not been paying attention. Because it’s nearly three weeks past Emily’s due date and here they are, both frustrated and tired and just overwhelmed with delayed anticipation, and a baby who seems pretty damn happy with the status quo.

Until—until now, it seems.

Now, with the entire plan thrown out the window, all of Lindsey’s carefully thought out contingencies and assignments mean nothing. _Make sure to grab the overnight bag_ , she written on a post-it stuck to the key rack just inside the door. Except she’s here, at the stadium, Tobin manhandling her training kit off her body and shoving her into a shower stall.

There's a list—the list of who to call, numbers for each of the friends and family members that need to know things are finally, finally happening? It's at home, sitting on the kitchen table where it's been for weeks, longer, it seems, every day. How will she know who to call without it?

And then the guide of pre-calculated routes to the hospital saved into the Google Maps app on her phone—the quickest, safest ways at different times of the day—but none of them account for traveling from the stadium to the house and then to the hospital. Not to mention the fact that Emily’s sister is already driving her there, so should Lindsey still go home first or straight to the birthing center?

It doesn’t help that Tobin just stands outside the stall, bent over laughing when Lindsey expresses this very concern before threatening to get a hose if she doesn’t get moving. “You’ve got time, Linds, but not, like, forever,” her teammate rolls her eyes.

— — —

Soon enough they're in Tobin's SUV, Lindsey's hair dripping down her back and leaving wet spots on the back of her shirt, little droplets landing on the black leather of the passenger seat, and the younger woman looks over at her friend apologetically. "Don't worry about it," Tobin tells her as she pulls out of the stadium lot, "it's Scotchgarded like you wouldn't believe."

Lindsey only nods as she drums her fingers nervously on her thighs, feeling more and more uneasy as they merge onto the freeway, which seems to be moving unusually slow on today of all days. "I shouldn't have listened to her," she says, mostly to herself, but Tobin can't help but hear the words, and reaches a hand over to give the younger woman a friendly nudge.

"Can't say I wasn't surprised when you showed up this morning," Tobin admits, "we all thought you were officially in baby-watch mode." And Lindsey looks over to her, giving her friend a sheepish look.

"I may have," she starts, "said something stupid. And Emily may have kicked me out of the house and told me to go to practice. She said I was taking up all the air in the house, whatever that means." Lindsey pouts a little, looking down at her hands, while Tobin chuckles. They're moving now, a little, at least, and Lindsey is doing her best not to let her anxiety come out in the form of telling Tobin what the best way to the hospital is at this time of day. Because she knows that even though this _feels_ like it's taking an eternity, trying to navigate through the downtown would be even worse right now. She forgets sometimes that there was once a day when Tobin was in her place, waiting and planning and worrying.

"Okay, dude," the older woman's voice cuts through her thoughts, "you gotta tell me. What did you say that got you sent away with your tail between your legs?" Tobin gives her a side eye from the driver's side, and Lindsey slinks down in her seat under the amused heat of it.

She looks at her fingers, examining the nails for a moment before she gives in and answers. "I may— _may_ —have asked whether there was something she could do to get labor going," Lindsey says. "And followed it up with something about being tired of waiting."

There's an almost deadly silence in the vehicle for a moment as Tobin processes the words, before she bursts out laughing. "Oh, my god, my dude," she pokes Lindsey in the rib, hard enough to bruise, "you are the stupidest—what did I tell you about the last weeks of pregnancy? Eggshells, dude, eggshells."

The laughter rings in Lindsey's ears, which she just _knows_ are bright red at this point. "It's just," she felt the blush spreading across her face, "it's almost three weeks past her due date, and we've tried _all_ the recommend things. Spicy food, bridges, walks, that tea—"

"Orgasms?" Tobin asks innocently, "Or, when we were trying to get things going with Chris, playing with her nipples—" But she stops when Lindsey holds up a hand, not wanting that mental picture in her head.

"Yes, Tobin," Lindsey says through gritted teeth, "yes to all of the above. And nothing worked."

The older woman just turns her head to look at this woman who has become such a close friend. "Well, _something_ worked," she teases, "because your wife and sister-in-law are on their way to the hospital now. And it sounded like things were happening for real."

Lindsey exhales slowly, nodding along. "Her water broke; Emma, she said her water broke." And the blonde feels her heart trip over its own rhythm in her chest. "Oh, god, Tobes," she looks a little pale now, "it's happening. The baby's coming. What do I do? I'm not ready for this—we're not ready for this. Emily, Emily still makes me cut the crusts off of her peanut butter sandwiches."

She looks over to the woman behind the wheel with a panicked expression, starting to hyperventilate. "What were we thinking, this is crazy, we can't do this ..."

Thankfully, Tobin's pulling them into the parking lot of the hospital, so it's only a matter of slipping into an open spot and putting the car in park before she can turn to her panicking friend and grab her by the shoulders. "Dude, Linds," she says firmly, shaking her just the slightest. "Take a breath." And they sit for a moment, Tobin softly repeating the command, until Lindsey seems to have her breathing under control again.

"You good?" Tobin asks, and waits for the younger woman to nod before continuing. "Good," she says, "because you only get one panic attack today, got it? As soon as we walk into that hospital, as soon as we get you to Emily's room, you've got to be the cool one, you've got to be calm. For her and for the baby." She lets her hands fall from Lindsey's shoulders, and lifts the other woman's chin with a finger. "Listen, take a moment, right now, and let it all out—the fear and the worry and the panic. Because today, no matter what happens, you've got to be her rock. And yeah, there might be moments when things are a little scary, and when everything's all over, you can be as scared as you want. But until that baby's born, until she's holding it in her arms and you're holding her in yours, it's your job to be the strong one."

Her eyes are serious, perhaps more serious than Lindsey has ever seen them before, even counting all of the times they've been competing for the highest honors in their field. And there's something about that, about the strength in Tobin's eyes that seizes her, that seems to fill all of the empty niches and corners of her mind where the fears of all the things that could go wrong have been hiding. Lindsey looks into her friend's eyes and nods. She can do this, she can.

— — —

"Oh, thank God," Emma says when she spots them half-jogging down the hallway, as quick as they figure they can get away with without a nurse intervening, "I was starting to worry that you'd miss it." She takes Lindsey's hand and points to a room just three doors down. "Go, hurry, things are happening really fast," Emma urges her, and Lindsey forgets the rules of decorum, breaking into a run.

Inside, Emily's in the bed, sweating and panting, a nurse gently sponging off her forehead as their OB-GYN sits on a stool between her legs, encouraging her on. "Okay, Emily," Dr. Knox says, eyes trained on the readout from one of the monitors, "take a moment, nice and steady breathing, just like we've been doing, okay?" And Lindsey, all gowned up now, takes a hesitating step forward, not certain how she'll be received after the morning's disagreement, and now almost missing the birth of their child.

But Emily sees her and reaches for her, name falling from her lips in something half a gasp and half a laugh. "Linds," she says, sounding exhausted, sounding pained, sounding so ecstatically happy, "Linds, you're here." And Lindsey rushes forward to wrap her arms around her partner, to hold her close and kiss her brow.

"I'm here, I'm here," she repeats, clutching the sweaty blonde to her chest before crouching down a little, putting them at eye-level. "I'm here, Em," Lindsey says firmly, and slips her hand into the other woman's. "And we've got this. You've got this." She hears the doctor clear her throat, announcing another impending contraction, the instructions to push this time. "You've got this," Lindsey presses another kiss to Emily's jaw before she stands, nodding at the doctor. "Okay," she reaches her free arm around her partner's back to support her, to hold her close throughout this miracle, "let's do this."

— — —

"Yes, yes, yes," Lindsey whispers, fingers tracing the gentle line of her son's foot as it presses against her palm, "look at that, already such a strong kick you've got." The infant, only hours old, is laying in the safe cradle of her thighs where she sits in the hospital bed, the love of her life tucked into her side, too exhausted to even snore as she sleeps to regain her strength after such a physically, mentally, emotionally demanding day. But Lindsey isn't sure she'll ever be able to sleep again. Not now. Not now that there's a whole entire life that belongs to her, that's her responsibility to keep safe, to protect, to raise.

For his part, her son looks perfectly content to lay there in her lap, kicking instinctively against her hands as she takes him in, as she memorizes every curve of his little body, every gesture of his long limbs, every expression that crosses his tiny face. So enamored, so enthralled she is by this boy, she misses the soft knock at the door at first.

"Hey," Tobin whispers, poking her head in. And Lindsey is surprised, she'd forgotten the other woman was even out there waiting. Everything in her life has been split in two—Before Him and After Him—and anything that came before 2:17 pm that afternoon has already faded away, a dim and distant memory of the before time.

The new mother smiles, and nods, gesturing for her friend and teammate to come in. Emma has come and gone already, cooed over her nephew and departed, tasked with a to-do list that would rival even the most ambitious of planners. It's only fair, Lindsey reasons, that the other woman who helped them make this happen today should get to meet the brand new member of their tribe for herself.

"Everything go okay?" Tobin asks, voice barely above a whisper as she silently steps over to the bed. "Emma said you were all doing good but—"

"Everything went perfect," Lindsey gives her a smile, wide and deep and generally only reserved for those she carries closest in her heart. After today, Tobin will forever be among them. "Thanks to you and Emma—seriously, Tobes," she whispers, "you saved me. You got me here in time to watch my son come into this world."

Tobin's never been good with praise, but she nods as she blushes, accepting it as gracefully as she's able. "It wasn't anything, I remember what it was like when Chris went into labor the first time. It's like everything you know about the world, about yourself, gets turned upside down." And Lindsey nods, because it had been exactly like that. And no matter what Tobin says, she knows, she will forever be grateful to have had someone watching over her today.

"You want to hold him?" the younger woman asks, shifting ever so slightly, enough that she can easily wrap the baby up in his receiving blanket again, fix his little cap, before offering him to Tobin.

The ache, that she didn't expect. The ache that opened up as she handed her son to one of her closest, best friends. To her surrogate older sister. And for a moment, Lindsey wonders if she will forever feel like this, like there's a part of herself missing any time this boy is out of her arms. She has a sneaking suspicion that she will. But watching Tobin take him so gingerly, so carefully, it soothes over the rough, sharp edges a little. Until seeing her son in his honorary auntie's arms is less a burden and more of a pleasure.

"Big guy," Tobin whispers, smiling down into the bundle in her arms, and Lindsey laughs softly, rubbing a hand over Emily's back as she shifts in her sleep.

"Ten pounds, two ounces," she says, and there's pride in her voice, a love-tinged pride at this healthy, hearty boy who belongs to her. "Emily's blaming me, says he's got my family's linebacker shoulders," Lindsey's eyes sparkle with amusement as Tobin looks over to the blonde with a renewed appreciation.

"Damn," the brunette whistles softly, "Caro was only six pounds and that took a lot out of Chris. Em is a real champ." And Lindsey nods. Tobin doesn't need to know exactly what it took out of Emily to deliver their son, but she is well aware. Had been there for every second of the birth itself, and the after—and the memory of the stitches that her partner had needed, well, Lindsey turns more than a little green at the thought.

She looks up at their friend, the woman whose advice she's sought more than a few times over the last two months. "He needs a middle name," Lindsey says softly, and Tobin looks down at the two women in surprise. "Emily picked Thomas for his first name, and he's going to be a Sonnett because she doesn't have any brothers," she's rambling a little now, her nerves getting the best of her. "And I'm in charge of his middle name. But I want you—"

Lindsey looks up at her with her sea-green eyes, and Tobin feels her own begin to water. "You've just," the younger woman swallows, "I'd like you to choose his middle name. Or if you're uncomfortable, like, maybe you could just tell me whether you prefer Tobin or Powell or Heath or something else entirely?"

Tobin takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the little boy in her arms. This is an honor she never expected, but she knows exactly what it means to name a child, to name a child for someone. And it's an honor she could never turn down.

"Christopher," she says softly after a long, silent moment. "Thomas Christopher Sonnett?"

Lindsey loves it from the moment the sounds of names hit the air. Loves the solidness of it, the strength. Loves the foundation—the love—encoded in the letters, in the sounds.

"Perfect," she whispers, feeling Emily shift against her. "Perfect."

**Author's Note:**

> "Birth-Day (Love Made Real)," Suzanne Vega


End file.
